


Coping, Now that You're Gone

by Austinonymous



Series: Ahleh'li, Warrior of Light [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Multi-Classed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Post-Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Rouge Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy FXIV), Scholar Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 04:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19191988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Austinonymous/pseuds/Austinonymous
Summary: The events of the Vault... he'd had barely any time to think about what he had just lost when he'd rushed after the Archbishop.Now, the drinking habits he'd picked up in his adopted home of Limsa Lominsa were coming in handy.





	Coping, Now that You're Gone

          Ishgard was a singularly cold city; he doubted Ser Aymeric would deny him that.

          It was both fascinating and ridiculous to think about- a combination of brilliance and frustration. Those who built the city saw fit to place it on a lonely outcropping of rock, with shear cliffs on all sides that subjected the entire city with near constant freezing winds that whistled by with blistering ferocity. It was one of the few reasons that the dragons had yet to approach from any direction besides the sole connection to the rest of Coerthas that was the bridge; doing so was exhausting for any beast and would leave the weakened creature a sitting duck for Ishgard’s mighty cannons.

          The citizens of the city were lucky in that the winds had maintained consistent patterns, allowing the Holy See to map them over the years to find the few ways their chocobos and flying ships could ferry people to and from the city.

          Of course, that did little to help with the swirling frost that circled the city, constantly seeking any purchase in its walls and towers. The snow tried to claw its way inside, and the only reason the city wasn’t buried under several inches of snow was the updrafts drove the snow away mostly. The sky fought itself every second, miraculously leaving the noble and poor alike safe from the worst of the weather’s attempts to encase them in an ever-deepening layer of ice.

          Despite that safety net, when one gazed on it, the city looked desolately cold. While the towering architecture of his home city was grand and its cathedrals and halls still filled him with awe, the endless stonework made living here when in a foul mood near insufferable. He didn’t have the glistening sea at his doorstep like back in Limnsa Lominsa, nor the pure white stone mixed in with the more traditional grey stone quarried from the cliffsides nearby. It was startling how refreshing a simple breeze felt while standing on the terraces of his adopted home, brushing up against him and caressing his cheek like a fisherman coming in from a long night’s work. The salt of the bustling harbor did not cling to his arms and mix into the fur of his tail or ears here, and the boisterous sounds of drunken song from a dozen barely controlled pirate crews could not be heard.

          If he was there, across the continent, Ahleh’li would bury his sorrows in booze and drunkenly dance on table-tops with the sailors of the city. Merry step-dances and improvised line-dances as a random sailor played a beat out on the well-worn skin of a drum as the wicks of the candles burned away. His old guild-master from the Arcanists guild would likely chastise him for not spending time on his incantations and spellwork surely, but Jacke would cheer him on before finding a secluded balcony for his other Rouges to share a pint and try and cheer him up.

          It was funny- Ishgard was where he was raised, but in this moment of great sorrow it did not feel like home.

          His companion shifted a bit to his right, a bit uneasy. Ahleh’li smirked a bit at the young elezen- though to be fair Emmanellain was actually a little older than himself, “Hn- Ya ‘een a wee s’bit antsy there Mister,” he tried to tease the man before frowning as his speech came out in the more slurred accent he’d gained while with the Rouges and the sailors of the port city. He coughed, forcing his brain to focus a bit more so that he wouldn’t appear quite so inebriated.

          Really, he hadn’t had that much liquor. Over his time getting into drinking contests with the large and broad-chested Roegadyn, Ahleh’li had learned to stomach enough to topple the seven-foot-tall race. It must have been quite some time since his last drinking contest to be getting this affected already.

          Oh yes. His last had been with… with…

          Ahleh’li took another swig of his ale, savoring the taste as it burned down his throat, Emmanellain sighing as he did so, “My dear Warrior of Light, I know how you must be feeling- gods, I mean I didn’t know him well, but he was my half-brother still,” He said depressingly as he took a small sip of the Forgotten Knight’s ale. “Is this truly the best way to deal with this? I know the docks of Limsa Lominsa are much different than here but… this seems… ineffective.”

          Ishgardian nobility and their weak stomachs- what Ahleh’li wouldn’t give to have Captain Jacke here, or Towering Stone, maybe Thancred too. It was too bad his fellow Scion was out scouting the Garlean’s movements.

          “Well, see here Emmanellain, s’not supposed to be effective. That’s the whole point; you drink till your dancing on the rafters and forgetting about whatever it was that got you into the tavern to begin with,” Ahleh’li said pointing a finger at the young noble elezen.

          “That does not sound healthy in the slightest,” Came the calm yet dour tones of the older Fortemps brother. The Miqo’te looked back with a raised eyebrow, tail swishing behind him as he gazed up at Artoirel.

          He took a moment before humming, “Perhaps not, yet here we all are. Your city is being forcibly changed from a theocracy, discontent and distrust bubbles under its surface, and everyone has dead to count.” Ahleh’li sighed, gazing into the mug in front of him, “What I wouldn’t give to be fighting the Garleans again in Mor Dhona. No secret revelations that complicated your feelings besides how truly massive assholes they all were.”

          Artoirel sighed and pushed a black bang out of his face, “Ser Aymeric sent me to find you; he’s quite worried for you, as is young Alphinaud.”

          That earned the noble a finger-wagging, as Ahleh’li’s ears perked up at the mention of Alphinaud, “Now now, that young man is only a couple years younger than me, so be careful what comments you make about his age Mister Heir Apparent.”

          Scoffing, the noble shook his head and smirked, “Unlike yourself I doubt Alphinaud can down a half dozen of the inn’s strongest ales without vomiting up his guts in the corner. I think I can call him young at least in that respect.”

          Ahleh’li nodded solemnly, before snickering. Alphinaud was really just too cute for his own good- not that it was an unattractive quality. It was endearing, and he treasured the other arcanist’s friendship dearly. Especially after everything the both of them had been through ever since escaping Ul’dah.

          The mood had lightened for a moment, but Artoirel soon sent it crashing back down again as he raised the issue once again, “I have to agree with Ser Aymeric and Alphinaud however; this is not what you should be doing to cope with the sacrifice of our dear brother.”

          His fingers clenched around the handle of his mug, but Ahleh’li managed to hold his fury in, “What should I be doing? Shall I go get revenge and bring those who hurt him to justice? Well, did that already and it did jack shit for me. “

          Emmanellain sighed as he set down his own mug and looked at the younger man, “We don’t need to drown our sorrows like this at least. You have many friends around you to take solace in. You’re even slowly finding members of the Scions you lost, aren’t you? Even if Haurchefant is gone, you need not suffer alone.”

          Ahleh’li’s breath hitched at the utterance of Haurchefant’s name, his alcohol-addled mind immediately conjuring his cheerful face to mind. Steaming mugs of cocoa in hand as he offered them refuge after being forced to run. A wide smile on his face as he playfully teased the smaller Miqo’te before they both downed another glass of ale. The wisps of frost puffing from his mouth, swirling past a face framed by disheveled hair and shirt hanging dangerously low on his shoulder as he lay over Ahleh’li. The red on his cheeks as Ser Aymeric gave them both knowing smiles as they shuffled in to plan for the combat operations to come. The gentleness of hands calloused from battle, carefully holding his own as they lay in front of a fireplace together in his quarters.

          It had been dream-like, despite all the trials they were going through. And like most of Ahleh’li’s dreams, it had ended by turning into a nightmare.

          A hand was suddenly placed on his shoulder and Ahleh’li looked up at the sympathetic face of Artoirel, startled. The noble sighed, looking away before speaking, “I know that this is all quite unwanted, and you likely wish to grieve without the rest of us. The Fury knows that Father has been secluded in his study ever since he received the news. This still, still it is not healthy. You, Alphinaud, Haurchefant, Ser Aymeric, and Estinien, have supported each other throughout this ordeal- throwing away their companionship now amid grieving is a mistake I wish to not see you make.”

          His tongue darted out and licked his lips to wet them; Ahleh’li did not enjoy this conversation in the least bit. He blinked, suddenly realizing what Artoirel was talking about, “I… I take it Alphinaud is not handling the disappearance of Estinien well?”

          The older noble shook his head, grim, “As someone with a younger brother, I know the sort of admiration he had for Estinien. Even if the Dragoon’s absence is not exactly abnormal, the lack of communication from him is. And with the Dragonsong War still going until peace negotiations start, his absence bodes ill.”

          That did not sound good. Ahleh’li had grown to respect the Dragoon over their time together traveling Dravania and Albathia’s Spire, and for him to be missing after all this mess with the Holy See went down…

          Still, that wasn’t the worst of it. Really, after everything they’d been through, here Ahleh’li was drowning his sorrows in booze while he left his elezen friend and people like Ser Aymeric who had been nothing but supportive to mourn Haurchefant and fret over Estinien’s disappearance alone.

          After Haurchefant had passed, only wishing to see a smile on Ahleh’li’s face as his eyes closed forever.

          Ahleh’li groaned, staggering to his feet as he dragged his sleeve across his mouth to wipe away any of the froth left there by his ale. The two brothers looked at him curiously and the Miqo’te gave them his best smile, raising his mug in one last gulp of ale, “To the greatest knight this realm has seen, and to a future where his death won’t have been fruitless.”

          Perhaps it wasn’t a convincing toast, or smile. But that didn’t matter. If he was to move on, he needed to do so with a smile. Getting through this grief intact would be his personal monument to a man who’d saved his life.


End file.
